


true ride or die (that's what you had)

by kongeda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Author Does Not Know How To Tag, F/F, Sad Clarke, Sad Lexa, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-27 17:16:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16223690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kongeda/pseuds/kongeda
Summary: Clarke returns to Chicago after two years and realizesLexais her home.title from "then" by anne-marie





	1. Then - Anne Marie

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot, although that could be subject to change.  
> Please leave constructive criticism where constructive criticism is due.  
> Enjoy!

Her grimy, paint splattered Vans sent a smattering of gravel skittering across the street. Last time she had stood in this spot, she had been with Lexa, kissing kissing kissing until their fingers were numb and their noses turned red in the winter frost. It was summer now, and Lexa was nowhere to be seen. Just the way she had intended.  
  
A balmy breeze cooled down the droplets of sweat collecting on the back of her neck, sending tiny rivulets down her spine. If Lexa was here, she’d give her a playful smack upside the head and tell her to stop thinking so hard, because Clarke had loud thoughts, and Lexa liked the peace and quiet. If Lexa was here, Clarke would ask her if she remembered last winter, when they had tried all the street food after the annual Ark Memorial Hospital Winter Gala and proceeded to spend the next six hours crowding by the toilet, vomiting contaminated eggnog out of their systems. But Lexa was not here. Lexa may not ever be here again. Lexa was gone. Lexa had left in an internalized fit of fury when she found Clarke and Finn on the couch, thinking that they had been kissing kissing kissing, just like she and Clarke had done next to the off-Broadway show posters lining the street, in the bus stop booth, against the streetlight, and on the bridge. They hadn't. Finn had tried to kiss her, and Clarke didn't like it one bit. There had been other things involved as well, such as Clarke’s scholarship in California. Finn had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. But that didn't change the fact that Lexa was gone, and Clarke was alone again.  
  
Clarke sighed. It had barely been two hours since she had landed in the small Chicago airport and taken the airport shuttle to the train and sat in the hard, blue, plastic seat until one stop from the end of the line. It had barely been two hours and she was already missing Lexa.  
  
This city used to be theirs. Lexa knew every nook and cranny, every underrated local coffee shop and every tourist trap. She used to drag Clarke under the bridges to watch the trains pass over the metal girding meshed across the second story, green eyes sparkling with pure, childish delight as the Chicago trains rattled overhead. She used to take Clarke on the Big Bus tours, even though as a Chicago native, she already knew the tour guide’s opening spiel by heart. She used to skip through the Bean, the giant, mirrored droplet in the middle of the park near their apartment, Clarke laughing reluctantly in tow. They had plans to get married, right there, in Lexa’s beloved city.  
  
It had barely been three hours and Clarke already missed Lexa enough for a couple hundred lifetimes. She wasn’t completely sure why she was back in Lexa’s city in the first place. She had woken up at four in the morning in her brand new New York apartment with a desperate longing to go home, to bask in the comforts of Chicago’s signature deep dish pizza and surly streets, it’s charming hipster cafes and old fashioned Italian restaurants. Clarke had wanted to go home. Now, she felt like a lost child looking for their parent, standing in her thin blue shirt and denim jeans, staring up at every building and every bridge, ingraining Lexa’s precious city deep into her memory for when she inevitably returned to New York.  
  
Her feet took a familiar path down a familiar street, past the exposed, graffitied brick, past the tree that, if she looked closely enough, had the letters “C + L” carved into its trunk, a head taller than when she had last seen it. Past the fruit stand where Lexa had joked that loving Clarke was like loving lemon and salt, then proceeded to hum songs from “Limon y Sal” quietly under her breath the whole way home. Past the little Japanese sushi shop that they had frequented, past the coffee shop where they had their first date. Clarke’s feet took her, almost subconsciously, through a set of tall, gleaming lobby doors and into the marbled, air conditioned foyer of a grand apartment complex.  
  
Her feet, on autopilot, almost lead her to the elevator, where she would have waited for the telltale ding heralding the opening of the gilded, golden doors. She would have stood on the black, marbled floor, fidgeting, as the red numbers climbed. She would have calmly waited for the immaculate doors to open when the number reached twelve, and strode confidently into the hallway. She would have-  
  
As Clarke set foot towards the elevator, her eyes darted involuntarily to the stern apartment manager.  
  
One withering look sent her skittering back outside into the heat.


	2. Without Me - Halsey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is sad and Anya is over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. This isn't a one-shot.
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome, as well as kind comments! Thank you to all of those who left encouraging words and kudos, you are greatly appreciated!
> 
> And now, without further delay, I present to you: LEXA!!

Lexa blearily blinked up at her immaculate white ceilings. A soft snore sounded from beside her. She turned to find a girl next to her, a blonde girl with messy hair covering her face, but Lexa was willing to bet that when those eyes opened, and open they would, they would be blue. She rubbed her own eyes, trying to clear the alcohol induced haze from last night. Wine glasses sat on the dresser, random articles clothing littered the fluffy white rug that Clarke had picked out at their last Ikea trip that Lexa just didn't have the heart to throw out after she had left. Clarke. This girl wasn’t Clarke.

Suddenly the silence was choking, all consuming. Lexa turned back to realize that the girl’s light snoring had halted, and that she was sitting up, groggily taking in her surroundings. Lexa had been right- the girl had blue eyes, but not as blue as her Clarke’s had been. No one had eyes as blue as Clarke’s were. This girl wasn’t Clarke.

“Hey,” the girl rasped, her voice rough with sleep, “Last night was fun.”

Lexa shook her head. This girl wasn’t Clarke.

“Get out.”

The girl was awake in seconds. “Geez, no need to be so rude,” she snapped, rolling out of Lexa’s bed and picking her clothing up off Clarke’s rug.

“Out.” Lexa swung her legs off the bed and padded over to hold the door open for Not-Clarke to leave. Not-Clarke left in a hurry, leaving the scent of her sweet, artificial perfume wafting behind her. Lexa took a long inhale. The disgusting perfume permeated the air with it's nauseating scent. Clarke would never have worn such an offensive concoction. Lexa exhaled. The perfume remained.

A few seconds after Lexa heard the front door swing shut behind the retreating girl, a loud knock sounded, this time on her bedroom door.

“Lex? You decent? I’m coming in.” The knob twisted violently and the door was wrenched open. “Lex, you’ve gotta stop- oh.”

Lexa watched as her sister scrutinized the room in disgust.

“I’m almost scared to ask what this is,” Anya said, jabbing her finger at a deep red stain on Clarke’s carpet. “Lex, you really need to stop this. This is what, the eighth night in a row that you got wasted and brought back a blonde? I get that you miss Clarke but you’ve really got to move on.”

“But An,” Lexa picked at the duvet, “Clarke didn’t even do anything wrong and I still let her go. She fucking _told_ me that he tried to force himself onto her and I still let her go. I didn't even see her text until six months later because I was too fucking scared of getting my heart broken again but then she was in New York and I didn't want to have the talk over phone so I didn't call her and now she probably thinks this is her fault and I’ll probably never see her again and-”

“You need to chill.”

Lexa took a deep breath. “I'm chill.”

“No you’re not. I’m your sister, I know these things. Now go clean up after your drunk ass and for the love of all things holy, go put some clothes on. Clarke might have liked seeing your tits but you’re my sister and as hot as you may be, I’m not into incest.”

Lexa cracked into a small grin.

“There she is,” Anya teased. “I’m going to go run some errands, you better be fully dressed and in a clean room when I get back.”

“Sir, yes sir!” Lexa snapped into a faux salute, drawing a chuckle out of her sister. As the door slammed behind Anya, Lexa bent down and began to gather her clothes off Clarke’s carpet. Clarke. Clarke wouldn't want her now, now that Lexa was sleeping with a different girl every night. Clarke wouldn't want her now, now that she was sad and pathetic and disappointing. Clarke wouldn't want her now.

She still wanted Clarke.


	3. Talia - King Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke takes an interrupted trip down the memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to TheWanderingDreamer for providing some extremely insightful feedback and information as to how my writing is interpreted.
> 
> Another huge shoutout to anybody who left kudos, kind comments, or constructive criticism- you are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Quick apology: This chapter is not my best work. I've been feeling a little under the weather and I can't seem to get my flow just right- I'll probably come back and tweak this chapter later.
> 
> Now for the story. Enjoy!
> 
> T <3

Clarke went about of her day with one firm goal in mind: do not think of Lexa Woods. Lexa did not want her anymore, so she would not want Lexa. But it was difficult, knowing Lexa was only a few blocks away from Raven’s apartment where Clarke had asked to stay for a while, knowing it would only take a few minutes to walk back into Lexa’s air-conditioned lobby with it’s gleaming golden elevator doors and cold, marble tile and- _you had one job, Clarke. One job! No more Lexa._

First order of business was to meander her way to the local art store, where Clarke could lose herself in the varying textures of brushes and oddly shaped palettes, where she could converse with the prim, delicate lilacs and the sullen, dreary greys. Her paintings had finally been accepted for a showcase, and orders were slowly beginning to roll in, allowing Clarke to finally have an excuse to unleash her inner antisocial hermit and paint to her heart’s content without Raven complaining that Clarke spent more time with her canvas than with her friends.

Raven. Raven was one of Clarke’s closest friends, and one of the only people supportive of Clarke’s decisions. Raven had been the first one to proudly hang Clarke’s paintings on her wall, eventually amassing at least a metric ton of various paint-splattered canvases scattered throughout the Reyes household. Raven had been with Clarke when she had received the letter stating in it’s bolded, official font that Clarke had been accepted into the highly prestigious art program at Parsons School of Design in New York. She had burst into tears of pride for her and danced around the kitchen, waving Clarke’s acceptance letter above her head, screaming “you did it! You did it! Clarke motherfucking Griffin, you fucking did _that_!!”

Clarke bit back a laugh at the memory. She remembered that day vividly, remembered the broad, dopey grin that had been permanently fixed to her face for the week after, remembered the spot on her bedroom wall where her acceptance letter had been tacked onto an unused canvas because, in Raven’s words, the letter was a work of art in itself. Clarke had joked it was because Raven had been too lazy to go out and buy a frame and thus decided to play pin the letter on one of Clarke’s canvases, but Raven’s adamant denial never let up. She chuckled inwardly. Those had really been the glory days, back when it was just her, Raven, Octavia, and Lexa against the world.

Now it was just Clarke. When she’d shown Lexa the letter, Lexa, of course, had been ecstatic. She’d taken Clarke and her friends out for dinner at their favorite restaurant, Polis, insisting that they celebrate Clarke’s scholarship with the proper festivities. And celebrate they did. But in the weeks after the celebration, Clarke noticed Lexa growing distant, visibly withdrawing into herself, staying late at the school library, purposefully avoiding Clarke under the guise of studying. When Clarke had confronted Lexa about it, Lexa refused to say anything, mumbling something along the lines of being tired and wanting to go to bed. Clarke had initially let it go, but as she saw Lexa less and less, she couldn’t help but suspect something more serious was up.

Her sneaking suspicion was confirmed after their high school graduation. Clarke had donned her old Party Griffin persona and threw a massive party to celebrate surviving four years of hell. All her invitees had shown up, as well as a few dates- well, all the invitees except one. Lexa was mysteriously absent again, so when the party really started getting good and Monty Green’s moonshine started flowing, Clarke slipped out into the night in search of her missing girlfriend.

She had found Lexa at her house, all the windows dark except for one. Clarke quietly rapped her knuckle on the door, once, twice, three times, before she had heard muffled, sock clad footsteps padding rapidly towards the door. The door swung open with soft click, and Clarke was greeted with a sight for sore eyes. Peeking out from behind the door was a very dishevelled Lexa. In hindsight, Clarke should have known that something was very wrong. Lexa’s usually immaculately groomed curls sprung limply out of her bun in multiple places, with little pieces of hair sticking up in odd directions. Her glasses were askew, balancing precariously on the bridge of her nose, barely clinging on for dear life. A thin, faded green shirt hung off of her thin frame, falling just past the tops of her thighs. Her feet were clad in the fuzzy purple squid socks that Clarke had gotten her for her 17th birthday. In that moment, Clarke had thought she looked absolutely adorable.

“Please lea- hello Clarke,” Lexa stood awkwardly in the doorway, nervously toying with the hem of her oversized shirt, snapping Clarke out of her thoughts. Right. She had a mission to complete.

“Hey babe! Can I come in?” After a week of not seeing her girlfriend, Clarke felt just as awkward as Lexa looked. She waited patiently as she watched Lexa’s internal struggle play out minutely in her micro expressions, eyes darting between the dark hallway and Clarke’s face.

“Um, sure,” Lexa opened the front door just wide enough for Clarke to slip through. She followed Lexa down the dark hallway, past the door she had learned was Anya’s room, past Lexa’s parent’s room, and finally into Lexa’s. As she entered, she was immediately assaulted by the heavy scent of flowers. Upon further inspection, Clarke realized that the scent wafted from five candles that she had seen glowing from outside the house, which was concerning, because Lexa never lit her candles unless she was stressed. She took in the state of Lexa’s room: the clothes draped over the back of Lexa’s wooden chair, the rumpled sheets on the bed, the various crumpled up balls of papers scattered across the hardwood floor. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that the normally impeccable Lexa was not okay.

“Um, miss?” A shrill voice snapped Clarke out of her reminiscing. _Bad Clarke! You had one job! Do. Not. Think. About._ _Her_ _._

“Miss? Are you alright? You’ve been staring at the sketchbooks for five minutes now. Miss?”

Clarke turned to the staring salesperson.

“Yeah, thanks, I’m good,” Clarke responded absentmindedly, still mentally berating herself for letting her thoughts drift off, “I was just gonna go check out the paints real quick.”

“Okay, great! Let me know if I can help you with anything!” With that, the salesperson sauntered off, leaving Clarke at the mercy of her thoughts. _Bad Clarke, bad Clarke, you can’t even go a day without thinking about Lexa, can you? Get over it- she dumped you. I mean, she didn’t dump you, but she isn’t talking to you. She hasn’t talked to you in two years, it’s not like she’ll suddenly start now. Your need for her to talk to you is pathetic. It’s like you still love her or something-_

Clarke stopped dead in her tracks.

_I still love her._

 


End file.
